While the great detective from Scotland Yard was doing nothing, here had he, the Inspector, actually discovered the criminal, caught him red-handed, so to speak! "It is no use your offering any resistance," he said, brusquely.

"Three or four constables are within call; you could not possibly escape.

I've had my eye upon you for some time, my man, and have taken precautions." This assertion was not strictly true, but the Inspector almost felt it was.
Derrick stared at the red face in a kind of stupefied amazement; at last he said: "You mean that you are charging me with stealing this thing ?" "I do," replied the Inspector; "and you may as well hand it over to me without any fuss." "I shall be delighted to do so," said Derrick, grimly.
He had not yet realized the full significance of the Inspector's first formal words; for the moment Derrick's mind was engrossed by the sardonic irony of Fate.

Here it was again! There was something really monotonous in the way in which this peculiar phase of misfortune dogged him.

Was he really going to be again charged with an offence he had not committed?
He opened his lips to speak; to say where he had found the box; then he remembered the words "attempted murder," and instead of giving information--which the Inspector would certainly have received with incredulity--Derrick said quietly and with a sudden pallor, "Did I understand you to charge me with attempted murder as well as robbery ?" "I did," responded the Inspector, sternly.